


A Study Of Ice

by Glowsquid



Series: After The Oath [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Archery, Baby Rabbits, Hunting, Ice, Rabbits, Starvation, The Flight of the Noldor, The Helcaraxe, They're super cute tbh, Valinor, aman - Freeform, angsty internal monologue, everyone freezes their asses off in the snow, i don't make the rules, no one is allowed to be happy in these books
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 18:45:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9085102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glowsquid/pseuds/Glowsquid
Summary: The Oath of Feanor destroys the lives of all it touches. Irisse, the daughter of Fingolfin, has the misfortune to be included. A study of Aredhel





	

Irisse reined in her horse, and the thundering of his hooves on the forest floor faded away. The White Lady of the Noldor slid off the back of her stallion, dress torn and dark braids quickly unraveling. She stopped and listened for any sound from the Ambarussa. Faint laughter echoed west of her, and Irisse was satisfied. She had led them on a spectacular chase, for few could catch the Daughter of Fingolfin if she did not want to be caught, but she was confident that the twin sons of Feanor would catch up to her eventually. 

She breathed in deeply, reveling in the tranquility of the forest. Birds and insects sang from all directions and the whole world seemed to be draped in golden green. Irisse threw the reins over the neck of her horse, then sank down to sit on the mossy forest floor. She loved her cousins and the adventures and races and mishaps that they shared, but she reveled in these moments of solitude. Sitting and listening to the sounds of the forest gave her so much enjoyment. 

She smoothed her dress over her knees, and sighed in contentment. Then, something on the forest floor made her catch her breath. 

It was a nest. A tiny nest of six baby rabbits, barely two weeks old. Their mottled brown fur was silky soft, their tiny black eyes were fixed on Irisse. She reached out a finger to gently stroked their backs. Feeling bolder, she gently scooped one into her hand. It nestled into her palm, as if it was made just to fit. 

There was a rustle in the brush behind her. The mother was there, her nose twitching nervously. Irisse gently returned the young rabbit to its nest, but its mother did not seem satisfied. The daughter of Fingolfin sighed regretfully. Brushing off her dress, she stood and took her horses reins to walk a safe distance away. 

The Ambarussa sounded closer. They would find her soon, bringing their loud laughter with them. 

For now, the nest would be her secret and hers alone. 

 

It had been two weeks, and Irisse could still hear her brother’s screams in her head. She recalled with frightening clarity every moment how he strained against her arms, frantically trying to reach his drowning wife. The ice had given way without any warning, and any attempts made to save her were thwarted by the cruel waters of the Helcaraxe.  
They knew spring was coming. They knew the ice would begin to crack.  
But they never expected it to crack right under her feet. 

It had been three weeks, and it still did not feel like reality. 

She could hardly believe Elenwe was gone. Elenwe was petite and fair-haired, reserved and thoughtful, almost polar-opposite in appearance and personality from Irisse herself. Nevertheless, the two women were close confidants. Anyone who watched them together knew that they were sisters in heart as well as in law. 

Turgon was more upset then Irisse had ever seen him. Their father, their brothers, and Irisse herself had tried to comfort him, but whatever words of consolation they had to offer, Turgon could not seem to hear. Indeed, his only source of comfort seemed to be his daughter, Itarille. Caring for her kept him anchored. Kept him whole.

But no amount of sympathy could feed their empty stomachs, so Irisse went hunting. 

She would have to admit, these frequent hunting expeditions were partially selfish. When she was out there by herself, the whole world was perfectly quiet. The only sounds were the crunch of thin show underfoot and the far-off cry of the wind. Even her own thoughts seemed muted. It was an escape from the clusters of tents, the choking smoke of the fires, and the ever-present reminders of the absence of those who were lost. Irisse so desperately needed to be away from it all, and if she could feed her people at the same time, so be it. 

It had been a week since they left the last of the grinding ice floes of the Helcaraxe, and being on solid ground was a relief to all. Spring was near. The snow had begun to melt. The days were gradually getting longer. But that did not mean their problems were over. 

So Irisse trudged on. She had been walking nearly all day, not stopping to rest in camp before she set off on her hunt, and her feet were tired. Turning back would be the wisest course of action right now. The experienced huntress very much doubted she would find any more game today. But not just yet. 

She crouched next a boulder, one of many similar to it in a wide moraine, watching Arien’s pale light throwing longer and longer shadows over the chill waste. She was about to stand and be on her way when something caught her eye.

Nestled on the thin, could ground, tucked halfway under a boulder, was a nest. A nest of four baby rabbits, huddled together for warmth. Irisse could still recall a memory, a fuzzy memory, now more of a dream or a vague feeling than an actual memory. A summer afternoon full of chases and hunts, the light of Laurelin bathing forest ferns in a shower of gold, and a warm wind at her back. A tiny, furry animal snuggled in her palm. 

Irisse reached to pick one up, but her hand faltered. 

Her hand. 

They had once been white and soft and delicate, the hands of a princess, with long, nimble fingers that could sew dresses or fletch arrows. Now the skin is cracked, blistered, and red from the cold. The nails are torn and ragged. An angry white scar crosses her left palm now, and it's been a long time since she could get them to stop trembling. 

These are not her hands. 

She continues reaching for the nest of soft, delicate rabbits.

And one by one, she wrings their necks.

**Author's Note:**

> Mae Govannen! Hi, guys! This is not my first fanfic in Tolkien Territory, but it is my first ever published on this site. (I'm excited) If you have any feedback on how to improve my writing, leave a constcurtive comment! If you liked this fic and would like to make my day, leave kudos! Come find me at tumblr at feanor-no and rant about elves who make poor life decisions.


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